not your mother’s pot roast
by bam
back when i was peeking into the kitchen, the room where my mother ruled, what happened to pot roast happened once every couple weeks. and, seeing as my papa was an ad man in the mad men days of american advertising, a three-piece-suited man who came home on the train with a brief case sometimes spilling with mystery boxes, boxes marked X, boxes we were meant to try, i came to count myself on the front line of the post-industrial-space-age kitchen revolution. which means i was among the first to suspiciously nibble hamburger helper, bundt cake in a box, and — our favorite — space food sticks, those tootsie-roll-like batons sheathed in crinkly silvery paper; “breakfast in a bite.”
is it any wonder my culinary quirks got cross-wired?
back to the pot roast. as best i recall, pot roast meant my mama was ripping open packets of dehydrated onion soup (thank you, NASA), spinning off the lids of cans, exercising her dumping skills. (i’d like to imagine that when no one was looking, she poured in a glop of old red wine, but that was likely the kitchen down the street, where my best friend’s mama was likely to pour a little red wine into, well, her first mug of coffee.) the whole pot-roast caboodle was entombed in aluminum foil, and set in the oven till the 6:30 train pulled into the station, my pa motored home, and we all sat down together to hear the highlights of the day downtown where the ad men re-wrote the national narrative, in 60-second pitches with the catchiest tunes.
another thing about the pot roast: i’m pretty sure we never called it pot roast. i think it had a name that ended in “steak.” when you were feeding five kids, and trying to stick to your weekly grocery budget (those were the days when my ma prided herself on a week’s worth of groceries for seven, paid for with $100 bill — and change to tuck back in her pocket, change that became her “funny money,” money to spend as she darn well pleased), you named whatever you could a name that ended in “steak.”
which is how i came to not really know what in the world a pot roast was. all i knew was that it sounded like something donna reed or dick van dyke’s laura petrie would make.
which is all an even longer-winded way to say i was mighty intrigued when i spied a food52 instructional guide for something called “pot roast with 40 cloves of garlic.” if you ever want to grab my attention, toss in any sort of big number. i’ve always liked playing with numbers, and 40 cloves of garlic had me, truth be told, at 10.
as i count down the dinner hours with my sweet senior in high school, i seem to have slid into an ulterior plan of feeding him in ways he’ll never forget. ways that might seep in as he stands in yet another cafeteria line with a dishwasher-splattered cracked plastic tray, awaiting a ladle of whatever swims in the hot metal bins. (it’s sneaky, i know, but we mothers must out-think our offspring, especially when they grow to be big enough that they don’t like to be smothered with our hugs and our kisses and the little red hearts we used to scribble onto their lunch bags.)
which is where we arrive, at last, and once again, at the pot roast. something about “pot roast” seemed to ping that place in my brain that’s on the prowl for unforgettables. a boy who sits down to dinner on a thursday night, or — back up the clock — a boy who walks into a house where 40 cloves of garlic have been infusing the kitchen, front hall, heck, making their way down the whole dang walk, all backed up with notes of grass-fed beef, and chunks of carrot, onion, and vegetable broth (with a splash of red wine, because i learned watching my best friend’s mama….), well that is a boy who might remember his mama — or at least her pot-roasty roast once in a while.
so i set out on my mission. secured me three pounds of grass-fed beast, peeled garlic till my fingers called for time-out, chopped and seared, and cranked up the oven.
because i never want to keep these little miracles to myself, i am herewith sharing my secrets. this comes from my friends at food52, those geniuses of community recipe gathering, where so many cooks have their fingers in the pot, you’re assured that whatever makes it onto the site is vetted up, down, and sideways. and usually delicious.
pot roast with 40 cloves of garlic
Serves: 6
Prep time: 30 min
Cook time: 4 hrs 30 min
Ingredients
2 | tablespoons canola (or other neutral) oil |
3 | pounds boneless beef chuck, patted as dry as possible |
1 1/2 | tablespoons kosher salt, plus more to taste |
2 | medium onions, peeled and roughly chopped |
1 1/2 | pounds carrots, peeled and roughly chopped |
40 | peeled garlic cloves |
4 | cups vegetable broth |
Directions
- Heat the oven to 325°F.
- Set a large Dutch oven on the stove over high heat. While it’s getting good and hot, season the beef all over with salt. When the pan is hot, add the oil. Sear the beef all over—figure 4 minutes per side—until the outside is deeply browned and crusty. Transfer the beef to a plate.
- Add the onions and carrots to the pan. Toss in the rendered beef fat and season with a pinch of salt. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the garlic, another pinch of salt, and toss. Cook for another 5 minutes.
- Nestle the seared beef on top of the vegetables, then pour the broth around the perimeter. It should rise about halfway up the meat. Bring the liquid to a simmer, then cover the pot and get in the oven.
- Roast for 3 1/2 to 4 hours, flipping the meat halfway through. You can start checking the meat at 3 hours—exactly how tender or toothsome you like it is totally personal.
- Before serving, remove any butcher’s twine (if it was there, holding the meat together) and use 2 forks to tear and pull the meat into big hunks and shreds. Season with more salt to taste.
- Serve with something starchy. This keeps perfectly in the fridge for leftovers all week. I also love freezing portions for pat-on-the-back weeknight dinners down the road.
so there you go. have at it. i can gleefully report that for a minute there last night dinner was silent. silent in that way that the taste of what’s at the end of the fork is so unusually good, the taste buds take over and the vocal cords go mum.
and that’s the story of pot roast. and how i added one notch to the score board, the one marked, “reasons to come home from college. or at least miss my roast-searing mama.”
what’s your secret sure-fire hit to lure those you love back home to your kitchen?
Oh my, this sounds scrumptious! A recipe we’ll definitely have to try! Thank you for sharing, dear heart. xxxx
twas! and a whole day later my house still smells like at least 39 cloves of garlic. xoxox
Hmmm, I don’t think even my very best vegetarian one-pot meals will lure anybody in, but I remember my dad’s pot roasts on Sunday nights. My mom did the day-to-day cooking, streamlined by Bird’s-Eye frozen vegetables, Kraft mac and cheese, Campbell’s soups, Betty Crocker cake mixes and other mid-century modern conveniences that her mother didn’t have. But my dad enjoyed making the complicated from-scratch meals–Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Sunday nights. He even made his own gravy, with help from a bouillon cube or two. He also did the meat shopping (with me tagging along Saturday mornings and getting a wiener handed to me over the counter by the cheerful butcher), and to the end he was fussy about his cuts of meat. So I can picture him 60 years ago at the electric range in the roomy kitchen, arranging everything in the medium-sized blue spatterware roasting pan, then sliding it into the oven. (He did eventually switch to mashed potato buds for the side dish, but with milk and butter mixed in, most people couldn’t tell the difference.) Thanks for uncorking that memory for me. (Yes, I cook with red wine, but that’s one ingredient my dad didn’t think of.)
there is little so delicious to me as the swapping of tales: i tell one, you tell one. the swish-swish across the net of tale-swapping. i love your tale. and truth be told, i ate the veggies (i told you i have culinary quirks) and chicken on the side. i cannot bear much red meat, but i know my boys find it a treasure once in a while. which is why i went for grass-fed. if we’re going to bring beef in the house it’s going to come from cows, once happy. (and it’s precisely that deeper grain of thought that keeps me from anything other than cow milk and cheese and yogurt…..)
i melt at the stories of your papa. and wonder if the butcher with the give-away hot dogs was paulina market? but, actually, i remember them giving a slice of bologna to my sweet little boys when they were little…..
Ah, the butcher shop was H&S Meat Market about 5000 west on Armitage in the Cragin neighborhood, about two blocks from our house. (Emptying out the family home, I found things stored in a shopping bag from there or I would not have remembered the name.) It was old-fashioned, with sausages hanging on display, a slicing machine for fresh cold cuts and cheeses, a huge built-in refrigerator with icebox-style doors on the back wall and a spotless floor. The shop smelled good. You took a number and stood in line a long time. But it was worth it, especially if there was a wiener at the end of the wait. I think the butcher’s name was Stash. He wasn’t tall, but he was substantial, and he had a wonderful, round-cheeked smile.
oh, this is gorgeous. i can see, hear, smell, taste…..the smell, most and best of all. that smoky meat smell. the sausages hanging…..thank you for a trip to the butcher this morning….
Tis the season of pot roast and beef stew and chicken pot pie and all sorts of soups. I made beef stew for the first time this fall on a cold day a week or so ago. I didn’t add a splash of red wine (me and mine are not fans of the vino in food), but I did add a whole bottle of beer. I basically use the Pioneer Woman’s recipe – https://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/beef-stew-with-beer-and-paprika/ which is delicious and incredibly tender. I’m thinking I’ll try the 40 cloves of garlic pot roast for Sunday dinner when Danny comes over for a home cooked meal. It’s always best to have plenty of food on hand when he’s here.
sounds perfect for a sunday dinner. and especially if you’re in the mood for to-go food! (when i saw the “keeps perfectly” for a week, i was more than intrigued…)
my favorite beef stew starts with pioneer mama. will go follow the road to beer and paprika…..
this has absolutely nothing to do with pot roast. it has to do with poetry that is prayer, and one of the world’s most blessed prayer priests is the poet David Whyte. listen to him here:
https://onbeing.org/programs/david-whyte-poetry-from-the-on-being-gathering-closing-words-oct2018/?utm_source=On+Being+Newsletter&utm_campaign=80144bb9df-20181020_ThePause&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_1c66543c2f-80144bb9df-67551057&mc_cid=80144bb9df&mc_eid=488a3e7083
and consider this beautiful line….. “…it really is about a surrender; and it’s a surrender to the doorway that each of us has to walk through, taking the path of vulnerability into our future life.”
he goes on to talk about the word “vulnerability”:
“We tend to think of vulnerability as a kind of weakness, something to be walked around. But it’s interesting to look at the origin of the word, from the Latin word “vulneras,” meaning “wound.” It’s really the place where you’re open to the world, whether you want to be or not. You’re just made that way. You were just grown that way. You feel that way. You feel the pain of others that way, and you feel your own pain that way. And it’s actually interesting to think about it not as a weakness but as a faculty for understanding what’s about to happen and where you need to go — the ability to follow the path of vulnerability.”
and finally, he says this about parenting:
“Then we have parenting. And the first thought is to bring a child into the world, to bring joy into the world and to bring joy to you. But you’re also bringing your own particular form of intimate heartbreak into your life. There’s never been a mother or father, since the beginning of time, who hasn’t had their heart broken by their child. And they don’t even need to do anything spectacular.
But usually, they do, do something spectacular. But all they really need to do is move away from you, grow out of the child you first knew, grow out of infancy, grow out of their adolescence, and then, leave the door. And then they live with you, as spies and saboteurs for years, watching your every psychological move.
Until one day, when you have your back turned to them in the kitchen, one day when you’re making something for them, the emotional stiletto goes in exactly the right place, and you say, “How did you know exactly where to place it?” And they say, “I’ve been watching you.” You can’t have a child without being humiliated. They will see your flaws. They will see where you are not held together properly.”
food for the soul, more sustaining certainly than pot roast…..
BAM as food writer! Love your narrative that goes with the recipe. This pot roast recipe is very like mine, the one I stole from, like hh, above, Pioneer Woman. Not her stew, though, her pot roast. The only differences between our recipes is my beef broth to your veg, and mine has rosemary and thyme, no garlic, and I know, the garlic’s the point. But it, too, is divine. I’ve done a hack that I love that may work with yours (should you want to mess with perfection). My tweak is to take about half the vegetables and juices and blend them to smithereens in a blender or Vitamix and then pour them back into the pot roast. It’s a somewhat thicker sauce at that point, sort of creamy but with no butter or cream.
That would be done, btw, after the whole thing was cooked. I would be no good writing recipes.
Wait, that’s so funny because I was thinking I’d seen YOU do that blend-y thing but I didn’t know wordlvr was YOU!!!
Xoxo
Yes, it’s I, Jan. I’ve got to change my user name here. Going to see how to do that…
Ohhhhh, that sounds delish!! I think I’ve done a blend-y thing before, but as I settle into winter cooking, I am grateful for the reminder! I’m all for using veggies in myriad ways….
Thank you!!